how homesick she really was.

When the doctor left, Mrs. Myers came. She exclaimed; wept; and gossiped
until two police officers arrived. Marian related to them what she had
seen of the accident, and became indignant at the apparent incredulity
with which they questioned her and examined the room. After their
departure Eliza came to her, and invited her to go upstairs and see the
body of Susanna. She refused with a shudder; but when she saw that the
girl was hurt as well as astonished, it occurred to her that avoidance
of the dead might, if it came to Conolly's knowledge, be taken by him to
indicate a lack of kind feeling toward his sister. So she overcame her
repugnance, and went with Eliza. The window-shades were drawn down, and
the dressing-table had been covered with a white cloth, on which stood a
plaster statuet of the Virgin and Child, with two lighted candles before
it. To please Eliza, who had evidently made these arrangements, Marian
whispered a few words of approval, and turned curiously to the bed. The
sight made her uncomfortable. The body was decently laid out, its
wounded forehead covered with a bandage, and Eliza's rosary and crucifix
on its breast; but it did not, as Marian had hoped, suggest peace or
sleep. It was not Susanna, but a vacant thing that had always underlain
her, and which, apart from her, was ghastly.

"She died a good Catholic anyhow: the light o Heaven to her sowl!" said
Eliza, whimpering, but speaking as though she expected and defied Marian
to contradict her.

"Amen," said Marian.

"It's sure and sartin. There never was a Conolly a Prodestan yet."

Marian left the room, resolving to avoid such sights in future. Mrs.
Myers was below, anxious to resume the conversation which the visit of
the police had interrupted. Marian could not bear this. To escape, she
left the house, and went to her only friend in New York, Mrs. Crawford,
whose frequent visits she had never before ventured to return. To her
she narrated the events of the day.

"This business of the poor girl killing herself is real shocking," said
Mrs. Crawford. "Perhaps your husband will come over here now, and give
you a chance of making up with him."

"If he does, I must leave New York, Mrs. Crawford."

"What are you frightened of? If he is as good a man as you say, you
ought to be glad to see him. I'm sure he would have you back. Depend on
it, he has been longing for you all this time; and when he sees you
again as p